


Faith can only get you so far…

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e12 Faith, Gen, John Loves His Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-25
Updated: 2006-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: The only thing that existed for John Winchester in that moment was the tinny sound of his son's voice as it broke with carefully chosen words.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Faith can only get you so far…

Scraps of paper covered every flat surface and fluttered against every inch of the peeling wallpaper in the small hotel room. Most of the scraps were yellowed with age and covered in forgotten scripts. The few that could be read told of powerful forces that could darken the stars with their mere presence: beings that planned intricate evils that played out over centuries; demons that used fire to destroy their enemies.

One corner of a scarred desk held a collection apart from the rest. A few obituaries were scattered haphazardly under a small print of a hooded figure carrying a scythe. Just to the side was a newspaper clipping. The headline read, _Blind Man Makes Miraculous Recovery From Cancer._

John Winchester sat on the single bed in the middle of the room, oblivious to the chaos of paper and the occasional blast of a horn from the highway outside. The only thing that existed for him in that moment was the tinny sound of his son's voice as it broke with carefully chosen words.

_"… you probably won't even get this... It's Dean. He's sick and the doctor says there's nothing they can do…"_

Overwhelming emotions—fear, pride, regret—formed a dam in John's throat as he listened to Sam's fear and determination.

_"… so don't worry, 'cause I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get him back…"_

John couldn't help but smile.

He knew it was true. Sam was intelligent and idealistic and stubborn as hell. No surprise, really. He got that from his father.

John set the phone down slowly and put his head in his hands. _I know you will, Sammy, I know you will…and that's what scares me._

His mind tumbled over the options—none of them good. There was no way for Sam to know what his promise entailed. Dean might have an idea, but Sam…he'd be looking for herbs, a magic pill, a psychic healer. He'd search until the last minute and never find that easy cure because the world didn't work like that. You didn't get something for nothing. Burning sage and saying prayers only got you so far. They only fixed so many things.

John had learned that the hard way, over years of lost ground and lost humanity. Balance reigned supreme; an unbreakable law, like gravity or conservation of mass. You couldn't kill evil without getting shadowed by it, and you couldn't give life without taking it. It was one of the few constants in a world of ever shifting shades of gray.

John's greatest fear was that when the truth was finally clear—stark and unavoidable—Sam would do what he'd promised. _Whatever it takes._ And John couldn't live with that.

He glanced over at the desk, at that small section that he'd reserved for things other than The Mission—things that Sam and Dean could take care of. John was too far away to read the clippings, but he knew the facts by heart. He'd studied them for hours before writing down the coordinates; made sure he wasn't missing anything before he sent his sons into battle to restore order and maintain the balance.

Now, it might be the answer Sam was looking for. If John was careful, maybe he could save his sons from a decision that would change them; a decision that would bring them one step closer to becoming the evil they hunted.

The darkness on his own soul was an unavoidable side effect of the war John was waging. It was a weight he'd accepted willingly, the price he paid for vengeance. He'd come to terms with that a long time ago. But he didn't want that depth of darkness for his sons.

In this case, anyway, it was a choice he could make for them. Maybe he was only staving off the inevitable. Maybe he was fooling himself, thinking that their souls were any cleaner than his. But he couldn't let this go, couldn't risk losing either of them now. Not when they'd come this far, not when the end might be in sight.

For him, this choice was just another stain, like so many others. It was a small price to pay for saving his sons. He could only hope that, when it was all over they could forgive him, and themselves.

John licked his lips nervously, knowing he was treading dangerously close to lines he'd sworn he'd never cross. He knew this was wrong, but there wasn't a choice. They were all he had left of Mary and the best part of himself.

John hit the first number on his speed dial, wondering how far down the list he'd have to go to find someone Sam had spoken with.

"Joshua? John."

_"John! Sam called me. I'm sorry, I heard about—"_

John cut him off tersely when he heard that Sam had called. "Thank you. Listen, I need you to do me a favor."

He gave the information quickly, before he could think better of it. The town, the name, the timeframe.

"You can't tell them I called," he warned. "It has to come from you."

The voice on the other end was hesitant. _"Are you sure? Sam was really scared. Don't you want to—"_

John cut him off again. "They can't ever know, Joshua. Believe me, it's for the best."

There was silence on the other end. Finally, Joshua agreed. _"All right. I've known you and the boys for almost twenty years, John, and I've always trusted your judgment. I hope you're right this time."_

"I am." John took a deep breath. "Thank you. And don't call before I told you. The timing has to be just right."

He ended the call feeling torn and worried.

He knew his sons better than to think they wouldn't find out about what was really going on. But if he'd calculated correctly, they wouldn't know until it was too late. Until it was done.

He'd trained them too well to be able to spare them that knowledge, that pain. This solution—it wasn't perfect and it wasn't right, but it was the best he could do.

In that, it was much like the rest of the life he'd tried to give them.

John hoped that one day his sons could forgive him for that, too.


End file.
